


Own Your Sins

by JDylah_da_Kylah



Series: You Only Meant Well? [9]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Brief swearing, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Implied Unethical Experimentation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route - "I want to stay with you.", Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDylah_da_Kylah/pseuds/JDylah_da_Kylah
Summary: Confessions don't always go as planned, but sometimes the cracking of one's secrets (which is to say nothing of one's SOUL) is worse. Who knows that better than Alphys?Or: Maybe, sometimes, sins are blessings.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wherever did this come from? And what did it become? Full disclosure: I'm not really happy with it. *shrug*
> 
> I guess I'd intended for "I Threw Stones At the Stars" to be the last work in the series, until I realized that I didn't ever give Alphys her due credit. My original idea turned into this, and . . . well. Whatever. I can't really say that there's much plot here, except two friends hashing out some stuff, but . . . well, anyway. The series isn't finished, that much I do know. ;)
> 
> My usual headcanon warning.
> 
> Despite the fact that she (obviously! <3) has a crush on Undyne, if you suggest during Mettaton's quiz show that Alphys has a crush on him, Asgore, or the Human (Frisk, whom I conceptualize as a non-binary) instead of Undyne—well, not a one of those statements are negated, which leaves me headcanoning (ah, a verb!) that Alphys is pansexual. Hence a certain hint that she had a crush, at one point, on a certain someone, but out of respect for him and her hunch, she didn't act. Yay Alphys! Crushing on your bestie sucks.
> 
> Anyway, all that aside, I definitely think she and Sans would be good friends. And I think (more headcanon) that Sans does in fact love others very deeply, hence the tag, but I think so many iterations of the timelines have left him with too pronounced a case of deterministic nihilism for him to allow himself to feel those sorts of things much anymore, at least until now.
> 
> Simply put: this ending's long gone off the rails and he still doesn't know quite what to do. More-so now that Frisk's pulled a certain flower-child from the Underground . . .
> 
> I'm also taking it for granted that Alphys and Sans were both in on Dr. Gaster's research, so even if monitoring timelines isn't Alphys' specialty, she at least knows _of_ them.
> 
> Otherwise, not much else to tell. Secrets aren't always possible to keep. Confessions don't always go as planned. A lot of what they say is already stuff we know and probably redundant, but I figured it was important for Sans and Alphys to have their time to deal with everything (even if for us it's pretty much same ol', same ol'). 
> 
> No idea why my version of Alphys has such a pronounced stammer, but as I sat down to work on this, she kinda wrote herself that way.
> 
> Toriel, Asriel, Asgore, Frisk and, uh, well, Chara, will all be back in the next installment, fear ye not!
> 
> In the meantime, reviews, thoughts, comments and critiques are all heartily welcomed. <3

  _"W-wouldn't a RESET—?"_

_"some scars are deeper than that, al."_

* * *

 

Funny, how with all the other things to remember, his mind still fixates sometimes on minutiae: the old password hasn't left his knuckles as he raps it out. He wonders if Alphys will remember, too, or if . . .

They weren't kids when they had worked with Gaster, but that last lingering streak of adolescence hadn't really left them, precocious though they were—geniuses, the both of them; why else would Gaster have them? No, some part of them was still so childlike that they'd devised a password for the laboratory door for no reason save to have it, a closed-circuit reason for itself.

Undyne must be out, because it's just Alphys there, framed as a silhouette amidst the low-lit house—the darkness being Undyne's preference, an echo of the Underground and Waterfall. The doctor's eyes are wide beneath a pair of thick-lensed glasses; crooked teeth flash white in a grin and a claw thick as two phalanges is shakily outheld. He stares blankly at her for a moment, sudden recognition dawning as he remembers, vaguely, the shadow of a secret handshake—another game born from their shared paranoia. But if the knock's still in his knuckles, he isn't sure he remembers that nuanced dance of bone and claw; peering into Alphys' face, he can't discern if this is just a game, or if—

She continues to stare at him, nudging at his hand, worried at those lightless eyes, now not sure of what to do. Sans has always liked a joke, but maybe this—

Finally she clears her throat, offering a feeble smile, seeing that the moment's lost, that the memory's long dried within the marrow of his bones—

"D-don't you k-know how to . . . g-greet an old pal?"

* * *

"Do you—uhm—d'you want to stay here, or . . .?"

Alphys glances hurriedly around the dining room. _Something_ had happened here, that much she can gather—something bad—something to do with Asgore and the child and—something to do with Sans' lingering in the doorway, the set of his jaw, the strength with which he keeps his hands buried in his pockets.

"L-look, Undyne showed me this w-wonderful new r-restaurant last night, and, and . . ."

She blinks, blinks as the room flares black for just an instant—she _hates_ it when he does that—not from jealousy, oh no—she's never been one to be jealous of him risking his neck like that—but—

"S-Sans?"

"in here, al."

His voice comes from the living room, where she finds him sprawled across the couch, a large bag of popato chisps dropped without ceremony on the cushion next to him. One hand gestures lazily towards Alphys' bookshelf, repurposed as a repository for her sizeable (and ever-expanding) collection of anime and manga.

"just like we used to, huh?"

"Y-yeah. I guess so."

Alphys tarries at the bookshelves for a moment, claws trembling against the DVD cases. She vaguely thinks of mentioning—but no—he doesn't need to know how incredibly awkward those lazy afternoons could be. For—well—for _her_. She glances at him curiously, realizing that if it weren't for Tori, she'd never have expected him to—that's why she'd never—

"gee, al, what's up?"

The couch's creaking sigh and a shuffled step give her enough warning to duck her head, to hide the fierce, deep blush blooming there across her scales. _W-what the hell is_ w-wrong _with me? I—why c-can't I just be_ h-happy _for him and not—not have s-so many ideas for f-fanfiction r-running through my head? I—I mean—I d-don't—how do they even—_

 _(Oh, God, don't even t-think—t-that's your_ friend _a-and y-your ex-boss's e-ex w-wife—)_

"al, you okay?"

Alphys gives a startled squeak, the DVD she'd been carefully cradling almost dropping from her grasp, the shining disc arcing, flashing through the semi-darkness before Sans hooks it on a fingertip. Not a scratch, all thanks to him.

"S-Sans! Uhm. Yeah. Let's—let's just—this one's good—I—"

"al, honestly, you know it doesn't matter, right?"

—And there's the same old Sans, who hasn't changed at all, whose smile never falters and somehow still is almost enough to make her cry. He's been with her through the worst and never asked much in exchange—just a couch and some chisps and her company, even if all she did was prattle on about whatever anime they watched and, inadvertently, give away the ending.

He never seemed to care—in fact, more often than not he fell asleep—but the anime itself was never the point. Perhaps it had more to do with their combined ability to devour a pizza between them (sometimes ordering the most ridiculous toppings on a dare—which usually ended up much better for Sans, who had no stomach to upset), or the flaring glimpses of genius for which Gaster would have lauded them.

* * *

_"I don't want to kill you."_

_"Huh?"_

_"Listen to me. I swear on my soul I didn't want to kill any of them. But I did. More than I can count. This game left me no other choice!"_

_"The hell it didn't!"_

_"Why don't_ you _tell me, then?! If you're so smart, tell me what choice I had!"_

 _"Stop being such a bitch!_ Own _your sins!"_

* * *

Alphys, one hand casually resting at the bottom of the chisps bag, feels Sans shift, catches a flash of glaring light from the corner of her eye that has nothing at all to do with the television screen.

Her stomach twists in tandem with the subtle shifting, the sudden chill, the room as it resettles after he's stepped through the darkness.

_O-oh no._

* * *

"S-Sans?"

She finds him on the front porch, gaze still gleaming with that cyan light—cyan, the hue of patience—and never has patience looked so terrible as now. She reaches for his hand—digs it from his pocket—the hand which flashes like his eye. There's no stopping her ears to the awful grating of his bones—

"Sans. G-God. I'm s-so sorry. I—I—I didn't t-think it'd u-upset you, and. I thought you'd find i-it interesting b-because of t-the t-timelines and—"

"al. just."

"N-no, please, I'm . . . I'm so sorry. I."

"al. it's okay. alright?"

"N-no, it's n-not okay."

Alphys swallows reflexively, grabs him by both hands, stares into those great, dark eyeless eyes which always, always threaten to swallow her, eerily reminiscent of the gaze of Dr. Gaster. Well. Gaster wouldn't have wanted to see either of his protégés like this, would he? What else would he have her do?

The visage of the Human girl who reminds her far too much of Undyne flashes through her mind—her voice, and the command—to " _Own_ your sins!"—

"Sans. C-come with me, okay? Come on."

He allows her to steer him back into the house, far past the living room and the kitchen table where _something_ -Alphys-doesn't-know happened just yesterday; past the hallway leading to the bedroom and down a flight of stairs that sigh. The air—the thickness of it and the musk—reminds him just a bit of the Underground; he reaches out to touch a wall and finds it damp. Alphys flicks on a light.

"It's—uhm—it's k-kind of . . . dank d-down here . . ."

"yeah, al, it's okay."

He says no more, which makes her shiver; if not exactly recently, he's been to the True Lab and seen what it became. Gaster had always, always kept the lights bright white—

Alphys nods to a single sputtering fluorescent tube above their heads. "Uhm. I w-want to g-get more lights installed, s-so it's m-more like . . . he'd . . . have liked."

"better for you, anyway."

Sans strolls the perimeter of the room, slowly, eyeing the tables and the shelves of beakers and flasks, the sample storage containers—and, he's pleased to note, she's actually installed an emergency shower. The childish impulse to pull the chain still hasn't left him; he plays with it a moment, the chime of bone to metal chain a hollow song.

"P-please don't."

"you know i wouldn't, al."

She grins, watches as he hoists himself up onto a counter, slippers dangling from his metatarsals. "W-well. E-even if we don't have to b-break the Barrier a-anymore, I t-think my r-research c-could still h-help us. Somehow. I-it's funny. H-Humans know a-all there i-is to know a-about themselves, b-but M-Monsters . . . w-we don't know m-much a-bout o-our own."

Sans glances at her, looks away. "al. be careful."

"I-it's n-not like . . . like b-before." Alphys rubs her eyes. "N-not like the a-awful f-flower."

"al. uh."

_she's going to know, sooner or later; she and undyne giving us the place to ourselves yesterday—that was a fluke—and asgore—he might accidentally say something—al—you have to hear this in the right way—_

Even now he doesn't know just what that right way is. Would it be better for her, like Asgore, to see him, really see him? Or would it be too much to bear at first on sight?

Darkness clutches at him for a moment—not _the_ darkness, really, just an echo—behind his eyesockets flashes that old, familiar visage—smiling that great cracked toothless smile, staring at him with such tenderness from that abysmal gaze.

_well. what should i do?_

_(too many secrets, huh?)_

"A l p h y s."

She turns, having begun to fiddle with equipment, not sure what else to do. His silences always bother her, but not nearly as much as her full name.

"al, look, things . . . yesterday . . . things didn't go so well."

"W-what w-was it all about, a-anyway?" He helps her up onto the counter; she wonders how the hell he has such strength. "A-Asgore asked us t-to give you all some p-privacy, so . . . w-we went o-out with P-Papyrus . . ."

"yeah, thanks for keeping him company. see. there's a lot i have to tell you, al, to tell my bro, to tell undyne. eventually, everyone'll—"

"I've—I've told e-everyone what I-I've done. W-what else is there?"

"al, it's not your fault. don't look at me like that."

Gently he reaches for her hands, slipping slender phalanges through her shaking claws. He thinks back to the anime and almost wants to laugh at this, how damned despicably fragile and broken the both of them are. Gaster had known it, hadn't he—long before everything went bad—

"al, listen. _we_ did the research, right? gaster never wanted that, never intended the DT extractor to be used for that, but . . . we were young and didn't know better."

"W-we h-had hope."

"you always did."

He swings his feet a moment more, kicks a slipper off, doesn't bother to retrieve it.

"so, al, it's not your fault, you understand? we did it together."

"N-no one knows . . ."

"because by then you were the royal scientist. al, when it was gaster, no one knew _our_ names. that's just how it goes."

" _You_ s-should have been—"

"nah, me? i didn't want that responsibility. i, uh, like to take it easy, huh?"

The words sink in and they are silent once again, the silence thick this time and bitter; would that she'd know what he became instead—what guilt's on his shoulders. Promise to Toriel or no, _no_ near-sure-promise of a RESET at the end should the fiend fail to get past him is _ever_ worth that risk—

And then—and then—that time— _last_ time—the time before this time—

"al, first, let me say this. our research . . ." Sans rubs at his eyesockets. "look, i can't say it's saved my life, but . . . it's helped. it's given me a chance."

"W-what—"

"al, you've seen the reports. the anomaly. the fluctuations."

"Y-yeah, but—"

"al, i know what's causing them . . ."

"What _c-caused_ —"

"what can _still_ cause."

She chews the thought a moment, resorting to biting at her claws, a habit he hasn't seen from her since they were kids.

"S-so—"

"this isn't ever over, al. just . . . different. just. i don't know. the kid . . . there's something weird this time, like . . . look, al, there are secrets, right? secrets we've all carried to, uh, to the grave, one way or another."

"D-don't say that . . . p-please don't. _F-Frisk_. . ."

"'s true, al. i'm sorry, but . . ." He pauses, not sure how to tell her, not sure now what he's really meaning to say. There's so much, perhaps too much, and bless her but he's never known just when a good time is to tell her all the hard things.

"look. lemme put it this way, huh? your research gave me a chance to stop them when everything went wrong. okay? so if we hadn't meddled with DT, well . . . i don't know, al, i really don't."

She throws him a dubious and sidelong glance.

"al, trust me. there's more to it than that, okay? see, in this timeline, yeah, the flower's there, but al . . . it's different, like i said, alright? frisk is different this time, too."

"D-DETERMINED."

Sans waves a hand, still startled in the garish light how his bones aren't soaking red—and not with Human blood, oh no. "that's a helluva word, al. in a good SOUL it means the world. in—in something else . . ."

"I-it still m-means the world."

"just in a different way, yeah, sure."

But he isn't sure, not even now, just what to make of that. The last time, ah, the fiend had too strong a hold of Frisk, had—as he'd known they would, inevitably—killed him—and—

Well. He'd tried to warn them, hadn't he?

He knows how hard Frisk fights, how tenuous their hold on this timeline is.

But it's the farthest they've gotten.

So.

He doesn't realize that he's shaking until Alphys curls her claws around his shoulder. "H-hey. Sans, it's o-okay. Okay?"

"here, al."

She isn't sure exactly what to think when he takes that same hand she's laid against his scapula, drops it to his chest—strange Monster that he is, with the illusion of a stocky, fleshy form—beneath her claws he's only bone . . . Reflexively she registers the springing of his ribs and the broad plane of his sternum.

For a moment she doesn't understand. Particularly for a Monster not of flesh, any sort of contact like this is all the more—it's intimate—

But how patiently he looks at her, how sadly and with—what—she doesn't know—but pride? A solemn, bitter kind of pride . . .

_I-I'm a d-doctor, damnit . . . d-don't t-think about a-anything else, n-not that T-Toriel has—uhm, just, j-just this and—_

Her fingers move minutely, tracing the labyrinthine paths of him, just where he's placed her hand, no more than that. Gaster taught her well in the art of medicine; Sans has always thought that Alphys far better deserves the title "doctor" between the two of them; a head for quantum physics doesn't make him this—a doctor—a gentle-handed healer—

_heh. tori._

". . . oh."

Ah. There.

Even through his shirt she's felt the subtle grooves, divots that don't belong: an ugly gash this was. All the way from his clavicle, across his ribs and sternum . . .

"from the last timeline, before this one."

Alphys stares at him, can't quite remove her hand, doesn't know what to say, except for the _weight_ of that, the awful image it construes.

"S-Sans . . ."

"DT kept me alive when . . . al, don't think about this, huh? don't think about it as a failure. think about every other time . . . every other time they never did a number on me, huh?"

"W-wouldn't a RESET—?"

"some scars are deeper than that, al." Delicately as he can he pulls her hand away, mind cast again to Tori—and suddenly, with that, he wants to be so near to no one, no one except her. Even if it's Al, even if it's just his friend, the good Dr. Alphys who's quite skilled a healer in her own way . . . only Toriel should touch him thus.

"even tori . . ."

He bites the words, loathe that they were spoken, wishing they hadn't been but knowing now that there's such little room for secrets. If he'll never tell Tori that she still bears the echoes of those killing wounds, who else to give this secret to than Al? Surely not the kid, who has so much more to deal with . . .

"point is, al, DT made it possible for me to stand up to them when—uh—when there was no other choice. and in those timelines, al, you were a hero. always were to me, i guess."

"Oh." Alphys folds her claws, looks down at their feet—her own barren ones and his down a slipper. "Well."

"so here's the other thing. you didn't mean to create the flower, right? and yeah, in every other timeline, uh, he's not really the best. but . . . our kiddo . . . frisk . . . look, al, the reason we all came yesterday wasn't to have tea with asgore."

"I w-wondered w-why he asked us to leave."

"al, not everyone left the underground when the barrier was broken. think for a second, al. you injected the first flower that grew up in asgore's garden after his son's death with DT . . ."

"S-Sans, please, l-let's not t-talk a-about this . . ."

"al, please, listen to me. al, we _have_ to."

" _Why_!"

She's on the verge of tears—and he can't stand that—but—

"al, tell me what you remember. that's all, okay? just that. let's start with that."

She looks down at her hands, speaks in such a quiet voice that it reminds him far too much of when they first met—if possible, she'd been more awkward and reclusive then than ever.

"Asriel died."

"where, al?"

"In the garden, i-in K-King Asgore's g-garden."

"which means?"

"His d-dust . . ." She gestures feebly, a delicate and broad-palmed brushing of her hands, no more. Good enough—Sans nods. "A-and t-then I c-chose the v-vessel from h-his garden. T-the f-first f-flower that grew a-after . . . uhm. And."

He suspects she's put the pieces together long before he's led her through it.

"injected it with DT. right."

"Sans." For a moment she seems to turn to him, to stare at him, seeing-but-not-seeing him, and then buries her head against his chest. "N-no, no no, t-that—that c-can't be t-true . . . a M-Monster's dust, th-their essence, lives on in w-whatever f-favorite thing t-they're spread on, b-but . . ."

"i don't know what happened to him, al, what really happened, why he ended up the way he did, but al . . . this time . . . our kiddo . . .

"look, al, it's . . . it's still asriel that's in that flower. al, it always was.

"see, al, frisk has said that it was asriel who broke the barrier. not them. the white-light-and-hell was him—as the flower—him as, i don't know, not really himself—taking all our SOULs, and the six human SOULs, and . . . you remember that, don't you?"

Alphys curls in upon herself, clinging to him still; he doesn't hate so much to think about it because what Frisk saw then of him was nothing new, exactly—nothing he'd outright tried to shed—but for Al? For Al, who'd finally as good as bared her SOUL and owned her sins—to remember being forced back into that darkest corner of her mind—

Awkwardly he strokes her head a moment, reminds himself never to mention this again, but pushes onwards anyway—far too far for turning back.

"it was asriel, asriel himself, who with all that power combined could set us free. al, he's the angel. i don't believe in prophecies but it seems like everyone else does, so i'll give you that. al, if you hadn't . . . in a way, by creating the flower, you kept him alive. i can't say it was good . . . he's suffered, al . . . but . . . if that hadn't happened, then neither would this ending have."

Alphys, still buried against him, doesn't stir; not in centuries has she heard so many words from him at once.

"and here's the good part, al, apart from this, from us. frisk's never forgotten who he was, never lost faith in him."

"I n-never t-thought the f-flower could h-have a SOUL . . ."

"strictly speaking, al, i don't think he did. not . . . entirely."

"G-God, if I-I'd known . . ."

"you wouldn't have done it, yeah, but then asriel would just be gone, and this wouldn't be happening. there'd be no chance, no possibility, that this could ever be."

_this or any other timeline—_

Slowly, slowly, she lifts her head. "Wh—he's—s-still alive?"

"yeah. i mean, as a flower, but . . . uh. but as himself, somehow, because of whatever our little frisk-o did when—uh—well, y'know, they stood up to him for us. whatever happened . . . it's like they woke him up."

He feels Alphys smile, despite her tears soaking his shirt. "N-not the o-only one, then."

"heh. that's why we came here yesterday: frisk's just brought him from the underground and he's trying to . . . well, we're all trying to sort things out, you know? . . . but anyway, asgore deserved to see his son. it's, uh, it's just too soon to tell everyone about it."

"S-so why t-tell me?"

"al, this hasn't been easy on frisk. or me. or asriel. see . . . look, you remember the first fallen human, right?"

"C-Chara. I r-remember their name. T-that's all I k-knew."

"well, chara, uh, frisk and chara are . . . i guess their SOULs are linked. somehow. and chara—well—we've seen the tapes—but there's more to it than that."

"C-Chara's not a-alive."

"they kinda are, alphys. just. it's our frisk who's in control, most times."

" _C-control_?"

Dark eyesockets snare her; she remembers the way he trembled when they were watching anime, all the dialogue about killing, but not really wanting to—and—and the timelines—and—the scars he bore—

"you think our frisk would do that, al?"

"I—"

"you didn't do that, al, trust me. chara—well. chara's their own, uh, thing. but al, see, this is why i'm telling you, because it's harder for frisk to deal with them, now that asriel's around. and al, i . . . this time i . . . i can't keep all these things together, al, but i've . . . never wanted them so much."

Alphys looks away, drops from the table, shuffles off to find his slipper. Wordlessly she holds it out, lets him slip that delicate and fragile foot back where it belongs.

"al, please, i don't know how but i really need your help. we need your help."

"D-does the—does T-Toriel know?"

"oh. yeah. she, uh, after what happened yesterday—"

"W-what _d-did_ —"

"nothing, just . . . anyway . . . tori, uh, found out about . . ."

Alphys fishes for the answer, thinks yet once more of the scars. "Oh. Oh. S-Sans. Y-your stats? Sh-she didn't k-know a-already?"

"nope. i'm, uh, pretty good at keeping secrets, too."

Shakily she smiles, intuiting what a nuanced secret that must have been to keep, all things considered. "W-well. It'll—it'll be okay. Okay? J-just . . . let me know . . . w-what I can do."

"heh. you know i trust you, al."

A pause as they slip from the table and Alphys flicks off the light; he takes her hand, steps through the darkness, lands them right on the front porch. He knows that neither one of them have much love for stairs.

"T-thank you, Sans."

"sure, al."

She watches him for a moment in the afternoon glow.

"C-can I s-see him?"

And there, part of the reason that he came; since yesterday, the house has seemed crowded and tense; Asgore means the best but he and Tori—well— Which is all to say nothing of the kiddos, or his own awkward presence—

"uh, yeah, i think so, al. just not now. there's . . . there's a lot of stuff we need to deal with, still."

"Ah. Okay. Of—of course. I can un-understand that. I just . . . w-want to s-say . . . how . . . s-sorry I am. And."

Sans pulls a hand from his pocket, holds tightly to her own. "nah, i get that. trust me." The words are off his teeth and nonexistent tongue before he can draw them back, disbelieving though he is, doubtful though he always was. "there's time."

* * *

The shortcut finds him trading one porch for another; the windows are brightly lit in the midafternoon haze, the early oncoming of night, and inside at the kitchen table he catches silhouettes. Toriel, and Frisk, and an indistinct curl which must be Asriel. He suspects, too, that Asgore's there, doesn't expect that he'd leave his son after so long apart—

Wearily he rubs at the back of his skull, loathing suddenly the fact that this house feels like a stranger's. It's not Asgore's fault, nor Asriel's—it's not anyone's—just a complicated situation with emotions strung too high.

His cellphone vibrates and idly he fishes it from the pocket of his shorts, content to give the house another moment. To his surprise it's a series of texts from Alphys.

 **Al:** [You take a shortcut home. Asgore's still there.]

 **Al:** [Toriel's baked your favorite pie. Papyrus will want to play a game with you until supper is ready.]

 **Al:** [And you'll tell Frisk and Asriel a bedtime story, about two kids who slept under the stars.]

 **Al:** [You and Toriel will come together.]

 **Al:** [HAPPY END.]

Breathlessly he snorts and lets his phalanges fly across the keys, somewhat impressed at her discretion. He might have slept through most of their anime marathon but not enough so as to miss her joke. His response is short— _thanks, al_ —but he knows she'll know exactly what he means. On a whim, perhaps just because he can, he texts a heart to Toriel before rapping his knuckles on the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Mirai Nikki (The Future Diary) fits all this way, _way_ too well for me not to let Alphys conveniently have it on her bookshelf. Conceptually, it also seemed like something that would creep Sans out (though Alphys thought he'd find it interesting): the whole idea of people being pitted against each other in a contest to the death, a "survival game," to become a God—and a myriad of timelines—and killing everyone just to try and save them in the next iteration of the world, at a terrible price, all for a HAPPY END.
> 
> Gods, do I ever love that show. <3 So please excuse my little self-indulgence, heh. The quote in italics is taken directly from The Future Diary, episode 21 ("Personal Identification Number")—those words are not my own!


End file.
